by R.M. Garabedian @RMGarabedian

Illustration by David Long

This is how I found my way back.

Sweat shines on Harold’s bald head and his dark, bushy mustache (still holding pizza bits from his airport lunch) is twitching. He shadows me as I perform chores on the ramshackle ranch I’ve rented in the mountains of southwestern Colorado. When I swing open the doors to the shed, he grabs a shovel, hoists it above his head, and yells: “Because this is all you’ll ever be able to do out here: shovel shit — horse shit!”

I am ready. A girlhood in mumbling, self-effacing Rhode Island notwithstanding, several years of Manhattan living had yielded me…

R.M. Garabedian

Writer & photographer

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